|Summary:||A black wind blows into town…|
|Date:||March 28th, 2010|
The evening, originally forecast to hang around 70 degrees, mostly cloudy, with low humidity, falls a bit short of that. Lightening flashes above, in large, dark and ominous grey clouds. To the Northwest, the sky is clear. It's almost as if a storm is slowly, surely, and spontaneously developing just above Blue Earth, Nevada. The temperature hovers around 62 degrees, and drops steadily after 5pm, as the skies darken, and the pulsing flashes in the clouds cast blue-white flashes along the town proper. When it finally settles in, around 4:57pm, the storm clouds, still without a drop of rain loosed, hover over Main Street, extending down to Prickly Pear and halfway up Crooked Back. The entire town is cast in shadow. Darkness has some early to the sleepy little burg.
The church is closed up early this Sunday, with no evening mass scheduled. Judah Laughing Dog, the preacher, has been called out of town on personal business. The lights of the rectory are out.
When a heavy wind blows across the town, at 5:02pm, a heavy shadow falls across the town, the swirling clouds above having blocked out most of the sunlight to the region. Tonight, sunset has come 2 hours early in Blue Earth.
Mitchell North (The 2nd, thank you very much) has been a rare sight in town lately, disappearing to his ranch for various and possibly sundry reasons. That as it may be, he's here right now, throwing a thick and well-stuffed dufflebag into the back of his truck; parked outside of the saloon while the metal innards tick off slowly to show signs of still cooling. It, and he, haven't been here long. When the heavy shadow falls across everything, the stetson-hatted rancher casts a glance upwards. "Aw hell. That ain't ever a good thing." His truck understands. It always understands.
As that darksome shadow creeps across the town, the rust-edged yellow tow truck (the gun rack in the back window firmly cementing this town's location as officially off the beaten track) that reads 'Moonlight Gas & Tow' across the side slows down on the road and pulls over with a rumbling grind of gears and hiss of hydraulics.
he driver's side door swings open, and Lucas Harper jumps out - landing with a faint puff of dust from the road where he lands, straightening and raising his head up to look at the sky, one hand raising to sweep the shades from his eyes. He squints at the darkness. Could just be a storm. Could be the Apocalypse.
When you've seen as much as he has, you never rule out the Apocalypse.
A figure is standing right in front of the Rock Bottom Saloon. That figure is Dobson. He's pulling on a hoodie over his typical wifebeater before straightening it out and running a hand through his recently shorn hair. Yes, he has removed the mullet. Staring out at the storm clouds, he says, "That shit looks like some shit straight outta Ghostbusters." Glancing off to the side, he spits into the roadside dirt and shoves his hands in the pockets on the front of his hoodie. "We are so screwed." But he says that with a big grin on his face.
Is Grace the only one who doesn't seem to notice the unusually early sunset? Hurrying down the street, a bag slung over one shoulder, she gives the sky only a cursory glance here and there - making sure she isn't about to be caught in the rain. The sudden darkness doesn't catch her off-guard nearly as much as the chill in the air has, and she pauses briefly to pull her coat tighter before moving on again.
Stepping out of the Spin 'n' Win, Abilene has a big basket of laundry on her hip that's been neatly folded and stacked into piles. The second she puts a foot outside, that's when the ominous shadow stretches across the town. Surprised, she glances back at the laundromat and then up at the sky. Maybe she was inside a lot longer than she thought. Unlike many of the others, she doesn't seem to think it's the Apocalypse, but she does get a shiver down the back of her spine.
From somewhere in the vicinity of the Church comes a low, yet cheerful burble of song. Given the wind gusting, and the general ominous nature of the storm above, it may take a moment to identify the source of the sound, as well as the direction.
The church is dark, the rectory is dark, and so then is the church graveyard dark. With each flash from above, the grave stones are cast in sharp relief, and the shadows are intensified behind them. Sometimes, those flashes make it seem as if something's skittering in the shadows, but then it's gone when the light fades, hidden in shadow. The Church doesn't look like a welcoming place today.
The back of Mitchell's flatbed is a haven of… Well, crap. Tarps cover some piles, rags and cloth covering a couple of others. The duffle is dropped atop a particularly pointy pile, rolling down the side as it's discarded to come to a halt in something approaching a 'nestle' between two lumps. His hand pats the side of the dusty red vehicle, thumping appreciatively before he hops up the side to lean in, stomach against the skirting with a low grunt of effort. "I know, gal. I know. A'hear it." Yes, he's muttering to the truck as he reaches to check on a padlocked steel box that's the width of the flatbed, not to mention bolted to it. His hat falls off en-route.
"You!" Lucas points a finger at Dobson as he catches sight of the man - recent haircut or no - in an accusing fashion, "Dobson! What the hell did you do now, you walking albatross?" Apparently, he's decided that the sudden onset of black clouds in the sky is all the cook's fault, as opposed to some meteorological event. "What did you…"
Wait. There's singing from the church. And the storm is—
"Motherfucker." Lucas jumps back up onto the door of his truck, lunging in to grab a shotgun from the rack and pulling it down before hitting the ground again and breaking for the building at a /dead/ run.
Hopefully, the accident won't be on 'dead'.
Blinking a few times Dobson takes a step off the front porch of the Rock Bottom and starts to wander towards the graveyard just a little east. Hands still jammed into his pockets, that smile of his is gone, replaced with one of curiousity. There's a moment of hesitation at the edge of the grounds. Ten seconds of silence seem to be all he needs to make up his mind and resolved, he heads on into the graveyard slowly, picking a path through the headstones until he finds himself in front of a large monument. He squints and then, helpful as all get out, there's a lightning flash which reveals clearly what he's squinting at. Blood. Lots of blood.
"Oh shit." He looks down and at his feet right in front of the monument is a bloody cellphone, from which erupted the Mexican Hat Dance of Doom.
There's another moment of consideration and Johnny Dobson runs a hand down his face. "Shit."
It isn't until Grace is a short distance from the church that she finally hears the music. She stops in her tracks, flinching at another flash from above. When her gaze is drawn to the cemetery and the shadows moving therein, she closes her hands into fists to attempt to steel herself, eyes suddenly downcast. After a moment, she looks up from the ground again and takes about two steps forward before she catches sight of Lucas. And he's running for the door with a shotgun. Muttering something under her breath, she sucks in a breath and walks forward, her determination to get off this damn street renewed.
Mitchell shoves in the key and removes the multiple padlocks with nothing more than an idle curiosity for now. Lucas' armed bolt for the church getting more of an eyebrow raise up until the rancher lifts the lid from the metal box o' fun. The reason for it's size and security become obvious almost immediately.
My God. It's full of guns.
The music from the church is weird, incongruous with the strange storm and the bad feeling that is in the pit of Abilene's stomach. Unlike Dobson, she doesn't notice any blood or the fact that the song is from a cellphone. Instead, she remains where she is with that basket full of clean clothes, strangely locked in place. The street has broken into a flurry of activity - people running one and another. But, the redhead stays right where she is, staring at the Church with a confused and worried expression on her face.
Once the party has moved to the vicinity of the Churchyard and graveyard, which seems to be a pretty hopping venue for a lawn planted with nothing but the dead, prayers of generations of townies, and the occasional firework on the 4th of July, evidence of disturbance become obvious.
Soil and grass on several graves is disturbed. Those who were on the grounds a couple of weeks back may remember what went down here. Those with sharp recall may also note that several more graves show disturbance than was obvious in previous weeks, but surely everyone will note blood staining several tombstones in small spurts. How no one noticed this earlier in the day may seem a mystery — but then again the Church has been closed, and the preacher is out of town. This, by the by, is the oldest cemetery in the town, so none of the graves should be disturbed, because no one's been interred here for a few generations.
There's little warning for Johnny Dobson and the others who breech the grounds of St. Geronimo's Church, nicknamed partially because of its tradition of Native preachers. Something lashes out of the shadows. Something bent, and knobby, with long claws, and flashing red eyes.
Once the gates of the churchyard are passed, Lucas's steps slow a bit, the shotgun pumped once with that distinctive ratchet that such weapons make; moving with a slow, cautious step forward, taking note of the disturbed graves and blood-splatters across the stones. "Cheery," he quips, "Looks like Laughing Dog's done some redecorating. Either that, or the bondage midget wasn't as dead as—"
Then there's red eyes, and long claws coming at him, and he sweeps the gun up instinctively, pulling the trigger. "JESUS!" The curse is drowned out by the blast of the shotgun.
"This is what happens when you get curious, Johnny. You f-ing moron." Dobson bends down to pick up the cellphone and that's about when he sees something nasty and clawed and red-eyed. His reaction is split second… he falls back on his ass, scrambling away from the attack while yelping, "HOLY JESUS GOD FUCK DAMN!"
Pistol: Inside jacket. Shotgun: Slung over back. Ol' Faithful Lever-Action: In hands. Was that a pipebomb that went in Mitchell's pocket? Probably best not to think too hard about that. The amount of time it takes him to kit out sure delays his ingress towards the church, but with naught more than a hasty spit onto the ground as he hops down the other side of the truck, he's a comin'! "If y'all are dead when I get there… So help me." He grumbles between heavy breaths.
Grace had been trying really, really hard to ignore what was happening on the church grounds. She was so close to getting out of here, too. But the blast from the shotgun startles her and she leaps back with a yelp, allowing her attention to be pulled back to the men running headlong into battle. "Crazy," she hisses with a roll of her eyes - but she's not rushing to get out of here, either. She's just staring.
There's a bloodcurdling scream from the graveyard. That's John Dobson. When his cellphone attacked missed, the creature lunged forth and put a couple deep slices right across his chest… cutting through the sturdy cotton hoodie and his flimsy wifebeater and into the flesh below. Blood wells out and starts to cover his front and when the scream is over, he scrambles with difficulty to his feet, shouts, "SOMEONE FUCKING HELP ME!" and tries to evade the monster on his tuckuss.
From the side of the Church steps, a shape raises up, its long claws flashing in a burst of light from above. It was lurking in deep shadow, but as Lucas passes within range, headed for the Church doors, it makes itself known. It is roughly humanoid, but bent, deep grey-brown in color, hairless, and distinctly golem-like (ala Peter Jackson's movies). Except in thunder need of a manicure and it smells like rotted corpse. The red eyed being has red, glowing eyes. It takes a swipe, missing by inches.
Oh, Johnny? Your very own creeper is also quite interested in innards! The creatures long talons flash and rip, almost audibly cutting through the air.
Neither of the bent ghouls seem to be letting up, both advance on targets. They're also spattered with fairly fresh (for ghouls) dry blood.
Mitchell is through the gates at a sprint, the sound of the shotgun spurring the man to more haste before he skids to a stop just shy of shinning himself on a headstone. He sees everything, despite very much not wanting to. Why. Why is it never just a bunch of rambunctious drunks? Why is it always something he has to shoot? …He'd probably do that if it was the drunks, mind you. "WORKIN' ON IT, GIRLY!" bellows out before he focuses on the thing that has a problem with Dobson, rifle barking out and filling the area with a burst of light.
Something had been feeling wrong all day. Daniel had tried to ignore it, but finally it had just gotten too strong, and he had to see what was up. A quick walkabout made it hard to miss… something was up over at the church. Grabbing the pistol he kept around for such occasions, Daniel had approached the area cautiously… only to see nightmares walking around. Ghouls. Great. The air around his gained a bit of a chill, but he pulled his pistol… someone else was already shooting, and he didn't want to surprise anyone.
The shotgun's blast doesn't hit home, but it keeps the long-clawed from being able to carve its talons into Lucas's soft, savory flesh. There's a flicker of recognition - maybe fear? - in the ex-soldier's eyes as he drops back a step, pumping the shotgun. "Ghouls," he snarls out, "I /knew/ that midget was bad news!"
Another blast echoes over the chuchyard, his lips pulling in a snarl.
Isn't it always the midgets? Just ask Jubal Early, and he'll tell you.
The staunchly disgusting creeping Ghoul who decided Johnny Dobson looked tasty is met with severe punishment from behind by none other than a horse rancher. They're sneaky folk, ain't they? Meanwhile, the other Ghouls continue to pursue 1) Lucas, and 2) Mitchell. At least one's been dispatched.
While Abilene was rooted to the spot, the scream coming from Dobson spurs her into action. She knows that girly scream. And while she doesn't have a great love of the man, she can't just let him die. Not if she could do something about it. Stealing her courage, the redhead glances over to where she's noticed Grace standing there. Without saying anything, she runs for the gates with the only weapon she has, the basket. As she gets closer, she recognizes what those things are and freezes. This…shouldn't be happening. That's all wrong. "Dobson!" With a swing, she attempts to get closer to the rude cook.
Daniel's eyes flicker around. Ghouls. Damn. But with the others around… taking a deep breath, he pulls his pistol and aims, ready to bring one of these things around. Who had summoned them? And why had that summoning gone awry? He'd have preferred to freeze one for later examination, but witnesses ruled that out. With a sigh, he pulls the trigger.
Through the air goes a pistol, flung from Mitchell's jacket in Dobson's direction after the Rancher's target goes down in a gutsplosion of gore. For reals, yo. Spine, innards and as much ichor and goop as you dare to imagine explodes out of the back of the creature. WHAT THE HELL DOES HE HAVE LOADED IN THAT THING? As he's smirking and racking the lever, a one-liner is cut short by one of the creepers proving it was probably a linebacker in a former life. Ka-THUD! Crunch. It's a flail of limbs from human AND ghoul, one of them reaching for a shotgun. Luckily, it's the human.
The filth-encrusted claws of the ghoul lunge towards Lucas, reaching for his throat, and the once-soldier steps forward - making the creature reach past him, getting in close and personal and shoving the barrel of the shotgun in under the creeping corpse-eater's jaw. "Christ, you've got bad breath," he spits out, before pulling the trigger.
Half of the ghoul's head explodes away, showering the area in pieces of skull caked in grey brain-matter and red blood, and the thing staggers back. The gas station's owner turns as if to move to Dobson's aid - and then notices that the ghoul, despite only having one red, glaring eye left, is /getting back up/ and coming forward again. "You have /got/ to be shitting me," he mutters, pumping the shotgun once more…
Another claw blow has Dobson sprawling onto the ground and expecting the worse. Blood everywhere, he has enough time to put his arms up to try and cover his face when Mitchell puts a shot clean through his executioner and drops him… right on top of him. "AUGHHHH NOT SANITARY BUT THANK YOU!" The ghoul is rolled off and though he'd much rather remain where he is, the prospect of another ghoul attack has him using a tombstone to leverage to his feet and towards Mitchell and Abilene. The pistol is caught in mid-gimpy stride, then pointed at the monster that's suddenly on top of his would-be rescuer. "Aw /hell/ naw"
Professional interest takes over any sense of self-preservation, and after Abilene has gone running in brandishing her laundry basket of doom, Grace starts to creep towards the gate. She's keeping her distance from all of the fighting, lest one of them decide she looks like a better target. "I wonder." Whatever she's wondering, she's only muttering it beneath her breath. Her eyes, bright with excitement, are fixed on the felled ghoul.
The Ghoul who seemed a bit fond of Mitchell at first, seems to have noted weaker game on the field of engagement. Maybe it was the scream, the girly nature of the shrill sound, or simply the better smelling girl-flesh of Abilene, but it sniffs the air twice, empty black holes where a nose may have once have been, then drops into a low, loping run for the redhead, fleeing the weaponry assaulting its body with holes.
The next slug rips through the ghoul's neck, taking the remnants of its head completely off its shoulders. It stumbles forward one shaky step, another, clawed fingers reaching for Lucas - and then it collapses in a heap. "And /stay/ down. Fuck! I hate fighting the undead, they don't /stop moving/," he mutters, cocking the shotgun again and glancing over to the redhead, noticing the lunge of the creature for her. "Hey! Pick on someone your own state of decomposition, buddy!" Blam!
"Gotta get back to the range," Dobson says as his first shot goes wide and PLINKS heavily into Mitchell's vehicle. "Oops." When the Ghoul up and leaves it's mansnack and lopes after Abilene, he says, "HODGENS, RUN!" Not that she probably needs the encouragement or anything. Aiming, he takes another shot at the damned thing as it's in motion. "Should have stayed in tonight."
Well, he hit it, anyway, but now it seemed to be charging a girl who was currently attacking it with laundry. Now THAT just wouldn't do. At all. With a sigh, Daniel draws a careful bead again. He has to make this one count. He is so focused he doesn't immediately notice the others going for the tackle. Well, with a bit of luck, and all…
KA-KOOOM! Mitchell's shotgun is somehow louder than his rifle, the break on the end of it only serving to increase the flash of light that douses both he and his ghoul friend in light as he fires from his back. "Yer more slippery than snot on a glass door knob!" It's not exactly the most inspiring battle-cry, but it'll do. Upside to everything: Creature lets go of his neck, blood seeping from both that and the wound on his chest. Downside: He gets covered in goop as the Ghoul gains plenty more wounds. When it switches target, the rancher takes off in pursuit, looking like he's going to tackle the damn thing to the ground. "Leave th'lady alone, you mulch-suckin'…" etc.
The redheaded investigator whacks the Ghoul with her basket without even thinking and manages to whack it across the chest. It's not very hard and it really dawns on her that she's in the middle of a graveyard attempting to attack the undead with notching but laundry. The ghoul that comes tearing after her earns what she imagines is the proper response, a scream. Instead of running, she does the stupid thing and ducks down. And that's when she gets a bright idea. Perhaps a bad one. Plucking up one of her bras, she stutters and concentrates as hard as she can under the circumstances in an attempt to light it on fire. Just like her to not have matches and needs to rely on the form of magic she's the worst at. Shaking, it's not surprising that the spell gets botched. And whoosh the rest of her clothes go up in flame instead of the one bra she wanted. With another shriek, she stumbles backwards from sudden misfire.
There's a startled gurgle-shriek from the Ghoul as fire erupts quite close to its vicinity, and the dark-loving creature is momentarily blinded. It jumps, takes several rounds of fire, then barrels into Abilene like a miniature freight train, all angles and points. It smells like rotting corpse mixed with fresh mulch and intestinal goop, and leaves a bit of a residue where ever it touches the woman. Its claws catch briefly in her clothing, and it falls, dead weight across the redhead's body. It's also leaking. Which means her remaining clothing is now soaked in ghoul stink. The creature does not rise again.
Yes, the ghoul soaked most of the gunfire. Unfortunately, Mitchell was dumb enough to leap into LoF and probably catches at least a little shotgun spray — pellets in his ass. Abilene just has to deal with a Mitchell-Ghoul sammich, with Ghoul as meat.
The sharp ratcheting of the shotgun in Lucas's hands heralds him chambering another round - just in case there's more of them - and he steps carefully over to where Abilene's smoldering self is buried under a blasted-apart ghoul and a Mitchell. He didn't see her long enough to put a name to her face, so instead he just cranes his neck to peer down, "Hey, uh. You, uh, all right? You need an ambulance?"
Dobson probably does, but he's not /asking/ Dobson!
When the final Ghoul appears to be subdued, Dobson lowers his borrowed firearm and leans heavily into the graveyard fence, slumping towards the ground. Pressing his hands to his head, he's does his best not to look down at his somewhat gaping wounds. "Move to Banyan Tree, he said. Blue Earth is a shithole, he said. F-ing midget was right."
Daniel grimaces as the shot misses, only to look up in surprise as bra and clothing suddenly burst into flames. He hadn't seen a match light, and he had felt… something else. Something foreign. Might do for a chapter of a book, someday! Still, fire is fire, and though the ghoul seems to be down… maybe this wouldn't be the worst group ever to see what was going on. Besides, he had been waiting for a chance to practice for WEEKS. His hand reaches out towards the basket, summoning ice to extinguish the fire before it can burn too badly.
Mitchell had a clever idea. Grab the Ghoul's ankle, avoid fire, stop it from reaching the on-fire woman that attempted to save him with a laundry basket. Mitchell's 'smart ideas' usually don't survive the planning phase. That'd be why instead of the ankle, he goes for the spine. He's getting revenge for being linebacker'd, obviously. Revenge comes with the sound of the creature's spine snapping as it can't reach Abby to hit her in the face. It also comes with buckshot in the ass. His insult finishes with "Brain-chewin' pile'a MYASS." for just that reason as he rolls off of the pile.
Only when the last ghoul has been dispatched does Grace start to edge towards the battleground, her eyes darting to the edges of the cemetery every few seconds, searching the perimeter. "Y'all all right?" she calls, her question far more general than Lucas', as she digs into her bag to procure a cell phone. Before she can get a response, she flips it open and swiftly dials 911, flicking her eyes back up to scan the edge of the cemetery again.
As the carnage dies down, Leng steps onto the church ground from the road, still wearing a dress shirt and pants, and doing his best to not look hot and uncomfortable in them. He has a brown paper bag in his left hand. Snorting down at the carnage of re-dead zombies, he takes off his glasses and cleans them with a wipe from his pocket. "Obviously the work of a rank amature." he says disdainfully, stepping over a bit of decaying flesh.
Abilene doesn't have much of a chance to lament her failure at lighting a fire where she wanted to. Before she can say anything, she's rammed into by a train of Ghoul and she goes tumbling to the ground with another shrill shriek. But, that's cut off quickly as the air rushes out of her lungs and she finds herself completely out of breath. Plus, bled and oozed on. So gross. For a moment, she just lies there, unable to get any air in order to push that ghoul off of her or to answer the question from Lucas. "Wheeze, wheeze," is her reply.
When Grace's cellphone comes out, Dobson's head comes back up and he's pushing back to his feet. The street is going to be crowded, fast. With very few options left available to him, he peers back into the graveyard with some dread and starts to gimp his way back inside. The sidearm he got tossed is tucked into his front pocket. He also mutters a mantra to himself as he tries to sneak off, "No one is paying attention, no one is paying attention, no one is paying attention."
There doesn't seem to be any immediate threat in the churchyard anymore, so Lucas shoulders the shotgun for the moment; bringing a hand up to wipe some ghoul brains from his cheek with a grimace, shaking his hand vigorously to get it clean. "Somebody call the sheriff so he can come up with another lame-ass cover story," he calls out, pausing then to turn his head slowly to regard Dobson, eyes narrowing, "Wait— wait, whoa, whoa, whoa. You KNEW the midget?"
Leng's remark doesn't go unnoticed by Grace, who huffs derisively into the phone when he calls whomever called the ghouls an amateur. Anyone looking her way just might notice the disdainful look she shoots in his direction for a split second before looking away. She could argue with him, set him straight - but no, there's that little matter of explaining to the operator what exactly happened here: someone was attacked by something in the church graveyard, no she didn't get a look at what attacked him, yes he's conscious. Flipping it shut once the call is finished, she jogs over to Abilene's side and offers the girl a hand to help her up from the ground. "Up you get, darlin'."
Now that the immediate danger seems to be over, Daniel steps forward, looking around as he starts to haul the foul creature off of the girl, not even taking time to be pleased that the clothes have been extinguished, if a bit colder than the weather would account for. "Are you alright?" he asks her as the thing is pulled off her and Grace helps her up. "Wasn't expecting to see those, here." Except that he was. Not ghouls, specifically, but something like this.
Mitchell rolls onto his front, deep breathes leaving his lips before he looks 'down' to poke at the unmoving creature with a boot. Then a kick to get it off of tthe wheezing woman. That gets a wince. "Nya.." The hell is going on? His brain rushes with things that must be done, although it's a little difficult considering those pain receptors are firing off as much as they can. "ICEBOY!" Daniel gets a fancy new nickname. "SOOTHE MY ASS." A finger pokes accusingly, then somewhat more accusingly at his own posterior. Dobson? Dobson gets the sound of a shotgun loading a new round. "YOU AIN'T STEALIN' MA PA'S GUN." He does not have a volume control switch. No he does not.
Dobson doesn't so much stop when Lucas calls out to him. "No one is paying attention," he mumbles. Of course, then Mitchell is aiming a gun at him. "God hates me." Very slowly, he reaches into his pocket and says, "Thanks, ah. For the loan. That is. See ya!" The gun is whipped back towards the street and he gimps as fast as possible further into the graveyard.
Leng glances around. "Did anyone notice something happening here earlier? Someone had to try to control these ghouls." he asks noone in particular. "Something odd? Anyone?" He walks over towards one of the more intact ghouls, and kneels over it. "I don't suppose someone would care to help me?"
Dispatch times in Blue Earth are known to be fairly long, unless one of the deputies happens to be riding right through town at the time of the call out for a roll out. Estimated times range from 10 minutes to 30 minutes, depending on the weather condition, location, and time of day. Luckily, Main Street usually hangs around a 6 minute call out time, because one of the Deputies is too damn lazy to drive out very far.
Everything is still in the graveyard, even the various ghoul parts. The storm above doesn't seem to have dissipated much. It's still quite dark.
"Dobson… DOBSON! YOU GET BACK HERE, YOU LYING SHITWEASEL!" Lucas drops the shotgun down from his shoulder, scowling for a moment as if considering taking the shot, but finally he just screws up a grimace and turns away, muttering, "Bastard can't keep his secrets forever. I know where he works…" He gestures with the shotgun towards Leng, "…midget was trying to raise the graveyard a few weeks back, got stepped on by a troll. Guess all that necromantic hoodoo voodoo shit was still lurking about, and our fun little friends here decided to get up and party."
Once the ghoul is kicked off of her Abilene rolls over slightly. She can't tell if it's harder to breathe because of being toppled onto or because of the noxious smell of the ooze. Taking Grace's hand, she pulls herself into a standing position. Her breathing is less ragged now and she frowns. The man she got into this whole mess for has high-tailed it out of here. "I…it's…weird," she says, softly. It's all she can manage. "Sh—shouldn't even be able…to…be here." 'Course, this is the woman that failed to light her own bra on fire. What does she know?
Leng snorts again as he takes a scalpel out of the bag and begins cutting away bits of ghoul flesh. "The power of life and death and raising a graveyard is what he tries to do? Pathetic. I hope it was a misfire, I really do. Certainly looks like it."
Too many things are happening at once, all of them interesting, and Grace is feeling torn. The look she gives Leng is a long, calculating one, her hand gripping Abilene's a little tighter for a few seconds before she catches herself. "Sorry, excuse me," she says distractedly to Abilene, managing a brief, apologetic smile before she steps away. As she approaches Leng, she looks again to the edge of the cemetery, even turning to look over her shoulder, just to see if there's anyone (or thing) lurking about. With only a brief glance to Leng, she asks, "What sort of help were you looking for, exactly?"
Daniel gives Mitchell a bit of a look at the 'Iceboy' comment and prompty decides to ignore him, instead looking about for any signs of something else to worry about. The storm is especially worrying… it could just have been a coincidence, and that fire COULD have been put out by a sudden burst of cold that happened to originate near his writer's hands. He keeps glancing around and upwards, still unable to shake that odd itch…
Dobson makes it most of the way through the graveyard and out the other side. Unfortunately, he glances back at the wrong moment and when he looks forward again, he gets clocked in the head by a tree. It's bad enough to send him sprawling forward into the pre-desert scrabble that starts when one drifts too far away from Main Street. Ow. He lands face first and doesn't get up.
Leng glances towards Grace. "Ghouls don't have brains, so there's nothing I can do there. But it looks as if this might be the result of a magical misfire." he explains. "I'd like to drag one of them off so I can try and trace the source later. Don't know if I can, and it'll be risky at best. But if someone's powerful enough to do this, and stupid enough to try, I think it would be for the best. But I can't carry one by myself. And I'd need to get it out of here before the Sherrif arrives."
"He was a midget in latex bondage gear, at least up until the part where he became hamburger, I don't think he was exactly playing with a full fuckin' deck," Lucas points out roughly, then he pauses as he sees what Leng's up to, muttering, "…and I don't think you're exactly playing with a full fuckin' deck either. Or listening, but, whatever. What do I know, anyway?" That said, he calls out generally, "Anybody else hurt? Not you, Mitchell, we all heard about your ass already."
Mitchell's jaw sets as his polite request is ignored. When he stands, teeth grind and ghoul-goop drips around his feet, hitting the floor with a slopping sound normally saved for an abbatoir. It's not all that long before it's settled in his brain that people are more likely to approach Abeline to check for injuries than the slightly old Rancher. To his credit, that realization is met with little more than a scoff and a dismissive handwave. "See if ah save any y'alls asses again." The shotgun drapes across his shoulder as he starts leaving the grounds in the well-known action movie star fashion of 'Hobbling.' Hobble. Hobble.
Oh, ho. The dark-haired girl stops in her tracks, peering at the grass a short distance away. "Mm. Just a moment and I'll help you with that," Grace replies to Leng, looking to him only long enough to make sure he understood before turning back to whatever it was that interested her. "I dropped something." She jogs towards the fence, stooping to pick something up from the ground and tucking it into the pocket of her jacket, all in what she hopes is a surreptitious fashion. Once it's securely in her pocket, she turns back to Leng in a much more attentive manner. "Where are you going to take it?"
Leng glances towards Lucas. "Oh, he died?" He pauses. "Oh, you did say that didn't you?" he mummers. "That would explain it then. The effect is residual. The ghouls are likely a result of his death, and…that means there's nothing more I can do." He stands up. "And I am listening, for the record." He turns back towards Grace. "Nevermind. It appears I was mistaken. Fortunately."
After awhile, Daniel finally allows his guard to drop, somewhat. He catches Mitchell's scoff and shakes his head. Dude wanted soothing? He shrugs, an concentrates for a second, waving his hand. No point in frosting flesh, but the seat of the pants might help. He then glances over to Leng. "A midget in bondage gear a necromancer? Where did he pick it up? A rough night in Amsterdam?" Actually, that COULD do the trick…
As he scoops up the pistol Dobson hastily discarded, Mitchell falls over with all the grace of a dictator's statue attached to a rapidly moving tank via cable. He just topples. Sideways. "AUGHMYASS" There's only so much you can do when your entire right cheek has just gone numb. On the upside, it sure slows down the bleeding! Downside: pellets are even colder.
"Are you sure about that?" With her hands tucked into her pockets, Grace looks to Leng with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. "Couldn't it have been someone else?" Well, this is surreal, talking about summoning ghouls. "That isn't to say that the gentleman over there isn't right, and he may well be, but shouldn't we make sure instead of assumin' it's that way?" Peering down at the ghoul on the ground, she says, "Seems like an awful thing to be mistaken about."
Abilene glances at the Church as she gets her breath back. Nothing looks all that different before, so she keeps glancing about - just in time to see Grace pick something up. Not sure what that was about, but she pushes it from her mind. Then, she slowly starts to move toward Mitchell in an attempt to see how he's doing. She just had to get herself together first before she could really move. However, seeing his disposition, she stops up a little short. Then, he topples and she moves forward again. "Oh geez! You okay?"
There are people screaming about their ass, there are burning bras - although that, at least, earned Abilene an appraising once-over from Lucas once everything was taken care of - and the tow truck driver slash gas purveyor heads for the gates with a shake of his head, declaring, "Alright, I am going to get a fucking beer. Anyone else coming?"
Leng hrms. "You make a good point." he admits. "I am fairly sure the reanimating energy is gone, but it never hurts to be doubly sure, and I won't have many opportunities." He shrugs. "Might as well. Not as if the police will do…" He glances towards Mitchell. "You know, lets just pick this up and get out of here." he concludes.
"I'll help…" Daniel says, walking over to Leng. "If you would like, I could freeze it. Help to preserve it, and less dripping while we move. But after that," he glances over at Lucas. "A beer would be very, very welcome."
Mitchell makes a butt-clutch. Yes. He's on the floor, rubbing a cheek with his hand in an attempt to stave off possible frostbite. If his pants werene't already blue, they'd be it now. "Worsticepackever! Augh!" At least he's trying to stay a little quiet.